Fiona Love Page 6

  They sat afterward, foreheads together, still breathing hard when he asked, “Why d’ya think it feels so good?”

  She knew what he wanted. There was no other reason to comment on the depth of feeling they shared. He wanted her to say she loved him.

  Fiona just shrugged. “Lucky?”

  After the movie they went for ice cream. She teased him into a faux wounded silence on their way out of the theater, and when she discovered a nearly empty ice cream parlor nearby began to show out.

  “I need some ice cream for my baby,” she told the girl behind the counter.

  “What flavor?”

  “What flavor you want, baby?” she asked Daney, smiling sexily as she blew him a kiss and winked. “Hmmm? Tell momma whatchu want.”

  You, he wanted to growl. “Cookies and cream,” he pouted. He liked this game. She cajoled him like a sleepy toddler, and he relished the freedom to behave like a spoiled, helpless brat. He forced her to do everything, right down to putting him on his back and mounting him.

  “We want cookies and cream,” she told the counter girl. “Black and white’s our favorite color, ain’t it baby?” She hugged him, soft breasts against his chest quickening his breath.

  “Yeah,” he said into her Seringa-scented neck. His eyes drifted closed as he kissed her. A sigh eased free as he slowly lapped at her mouth like a man in a trance. “You really get me going,” he rasped, when he finally broke away.

  “Guess what I’ma do to you later?” she asked, rubbing against his half-swelled dick.

  He just shook his head and groaned, turning gratefully to take the ice cream the girl held out.

  ******

  “You know the fuckin’ tabloids are havin’ a field day with this shit, right?” Andrea asked Cleo over a martini. “This morning I got more calls about that latest photo of them at the pancake house than when she won that Grammy back in ’08. Why the hell would they go back there again? It’s in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere!” She yelled, not realizing she’d answered her own question. “Couldn’t they at least be photographed somewhere downtown? Or up north? A fuckin’ ice cream parlor? They have to go nine and a half weeks in a fuckin’ ice cream parlor.”

  “They didn’t know, Andrea, remember? They went there because it was empty.”

  “Whatever. I gotta go. Damage control, for God’s sake, over ice cream and pancakes in the suburbs!”

  After Andrea left Cleo asked the bartender if she could make a call.

  “Sure thing.” He said, grinning with all of his blindingly white teeth as he placed the phone in front of her.

  “Barnaby Charles.”

  “B.”

  There was an excited pause. “Hey, girl. Where you at?”

  “You must have your door closed talkin’ like that.”

  He laughed, and the deep sound made her shoulders tingle. “Yup. Safe from corporate censure. How’s my pretty doing? Knock anybody out today?”

  “Fiona’s makin’ all kinda noise hangin’ around with Daney. I’m more fielding blows than making the knock-out deals.”

  “Where are you?”

  Now it was her turn to issue the excited pause. “I’m sittin’ in a bar down the street from your job.”

  “You’re right across the street from the Renaissance. Wait 10 minutes. I’m gon’ call you and tell you what room to meet me in. You can wait in the hotel bar if you want. Have a drink and then charge it to the room.”

  Cleo grinned. She loved it when he was decisive like this. “You’re on,” she said casually. “I’ma make one quick run.” She needed to pick up some condoms from Walgreens. Condoms were her responsibility. He was more than willing to wear them, and he always paid for them, but she had to buy them. He was simply too embarrassed, he confessed.

  “It’s childish I know, but you don’t mind, do you darling?” He’d hand her $100 for the condoms and $100 for her embarrassment. She’d told him time and again she didn’t give a shit, but Barney was old-fashioned that way. He often left her a $100 bill. She once asked him why.

  “For condoms,” he said.

  She asked him again.

  He just grinned at her and grabbed her by the waist. He rubbed his waking dick against her until he was rock hard. “I dunno,” he whispered, nibbling along the line of her jaw. “I think I just like giving you money.”

  She burst out laughing. “You got that line from the movie we watched the other night!”

  He just grinned, swooped her up in his arms and whispered, “It’s still true.”

  Now he said, “They have a nice buffet this time of day. I have early dinner meetings there sometimes. No. Better. We can have a snack from room service.”

  “Do they have a gift shop?”

  “Probably.”

  “I’ma buy somethin’ to wear for you there.” Like a shower cap. She’d be waiting for him on the bed wearing it on her big toe.

  “That sounds wonderful, Ms. Love. I’m so glad to hear it’s working out for you.”

  “Someone came in. Well, I’ll let you go. You gotta get loose and be naked in that room in 30, pirate. Peace.”

  She laughed at his indrawn breath before she hung up. Cleo winked at a man across the room who’d been staring at her for the last 20 minutes, tipped the last of her beer down her throat and set off.

  Her phone rang as she walked toward the drug store.

  “Cleo.”

  “Where are you?” Fiona asked.

  “On my way to the Renaissance to fuck Barney.”

  “Oh,” a fat sigh came down the line.

  “What happened?”

  “I’ve turned into a punk. I was supposed to be taking a vacation so I could think and get myself together, and now I’ve let Natty rope me into coming into the studio, again!”

  “What happened?”

  Natty called a few hours earlier…

  “Fiona, you are totally fucking me right now. I’m ready to work.”

  “Natty. You hear how I sound, right? I’m not even supposed to talk.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Aches.”

  “Fuck it! Bear down and do it anyway. It might be tight. Come on! I need you.”

  Fiona snorted into the phone. “Lemme call you back.” She hung up. “Call the doctor and ask him if it will damage my voice permanently if I sing like this.”

  “This ain’t good,” Netty exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You already suckin’ ass at the not-talking thing, and you smoke more now than you did before. ’Bout the only thing you did do was the tea and take them antibiotics. Now you wanna sing?” She shook her head as she inhaled.

  Fiona eyed her friend. “So if you know it’s not goin’ well, why don’t you stop makin’ me talk and do what the fuck I say. You’re my assistant, right? Assist me.”

  Netty rolled her eyes, but she dialed the doctor and left a message with his service. When he called back a whopping three minutes later, he insisted on speaking with Fiona.

  “Fiona, Fifi, dearest, you’re going to delay your recovery if you sing with that throat. I don’t think there will be any permanent damage, but the throat is like the brain, very delicate and very temperamental.”

  “It’s just a hook. I’ll sing no more than 10 rips, and no talking.”

  The doctor laughed. “No more than necessary anyway, and bargaining doesn’t make it right.”

  “Shhhh,” said Fiona, and hung up. She redialed Natty Cambridge, super producer, and one of her oldest friends. “A’ight, fool. I’m in. But I want this shit kept short and secret. I won’t be there long, and I won’t be talking. You get 10 rips, so don’t piss me off or waste my time.”

  “No doubt,” he said, and she could hear him smiling.

  “See?” Fiona asked Cleo. “I’m a punk.”

  “You’re not a punk. You let yourself get talked into that because that’s what you want. You haven’t made much music in the past few years, and you love it. Stop beating yourself up and start listening to your gut. That’s w
hat your heart wants; don’t go against it. Now put out that fuckin’ pinner and get off the phone.”

  Fiona chuckled and stabbed out her joint in a heavy crystal ashtray. “When did you get so smart?”

  “I ain’t smart; I just know you. Now I’m off to fuck the banker so don’t call me for at least two hours.”

  Netty poked her head in as Fiona put down her cell.

  “Your business manager’s on the phone, Fiona.”

  Tell that bitch I can’t talk, she mouthed to Netty.

  “Fiona can’t talk yet, Lotty. No, like medically. All right. Will do. She says the beauty money hasn’t come in yet.”

  Damn, mouthed Fiona.

  “And she says if you go to the Gucci store again before next year she’s quitting. ‘Tryna keep up with the Joneses is not gon’ help you when you retire,’ end quote.”

  Fuck her, Fiona said, without sound.

  Hadn’t she purchased her own house, paying so much down her mortgage was laughable? Hadn’t she started a separate account with enough money to pay her taxes for the next five years in case of? She’d been in her place three years and had yet to touch the money. Didn’t she have IRAs and mutual funds, multiple savings at multiple banks, a college fund and retirement accounts, stocks and all that shit? She paid all of her credit card bills, which were negligible, compared to many of her peers, in full every month. She’d only been to the Gucci store three or four times this year.

  What can I spend my fuckin’ money on if not a little funky ass purse once in a while? She mouthed to Netty. I think I’ll call Daney.

  “Don’t be on all day,” Netty said and was ignored. “You gotta go to the studio.”

  “Hello?”

  “Peace.”

  “Who’s this? That rasp kinda sounds familiar.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Any time, babe.”

  “Thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

  “Yes, you little shit. I was thinking about you. I’m standing outside a jewelry store.”

  Fiona laughed so genuinely he began to smile. “You saw diamonds and thought of me? You charmer. Buying?”

  “Yes, brat. I’m buyin’. Miss you,” he said, in a completely different voice.

  “I know it,” she laughed softly.

  He laughed too. “Bye.”

  “Peace.”

  She opened her mouth to tell Netty Daney was buying her a gift then realized for the fiftieth time that day she couldn’t talk. Shit. She wasn’t a huge talker anyway, but this actively forced silence was a bitch.

  “Whatchu’ think about this?” Netty held up a denim dress with spaghetti straps and a heart shaped neckline. A prominent gold zipper ran the full length of the back.

  Fiona shook her head and patted her belly. Too tight. She’d have to suck it in constantly. She pushed speed dial again.

  Netty held out a chinoiserie dress with solid cummerbund, cuffs, neckline and hem in milk chocolate brown and a slender waist tie with flowered edges. The rest of the fabric was covered in thin, water lilies in white, green and a dusky pink. It would hit just below the knee and emphasis Fiona’s tiny waist, curvy bottom and slender ankles.

  She pointed to it then at a lighter.

  Netty tossed the fire, and began to scrabble around on the floor of the closet for the shoes she’d picked to go with a dress she hadn’t been able to convince Fiona to wear yet. They’d be perfect with this one too, especially if she could –

  “Where’s my beauty money?” Fiona asked her agent.

  She’d done an international beauty ad for one of the major companies recently that would show all over South America beginning in Brazil.

  “Fifi, baby. As always your timing’s impeccable. The check’s in the mail. I just got it today, and my fuckwit, tortoise-like assistant just got back from accounting. You know, I really wish you were like all my other clients who don’t keep track of their money.”

  “You mailed it?” She asked, ignoring the rest.

  Marty clucked his tongue. “Minutes ago. Should go out with the 3:30 mail.”

  “It better be here in two days.”

  “Listen, how’s the voice? You sound rough. What the hell’s Cleo doin’ with those scripts I sent over? I want to talk to you about–”

  Fiona hung up. How many times had she told that dude she was on vacation?

  “Look at these,” Netty held a pair of pink and brown stilettos aloft by their scarf ankle ties. “Tight, no?”

  “The Transplants people want you bad,” Cleo said walking in. “Apparently ole’ boy talked you up, like for real, and they do whatever they can to keep him happy.”

  “What happened to Barney?”

  “Last minute bull shit at the bank. I’m meeting him later. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wrote you into another episode.”

  Yeah? Fiona asked.

  “Yeah. Just don’t fuck your costar,” Cleo warned, glaring in her cousin’s direction. “He’s a trouble-maker. He’ll smile his way right onto Page Six followed closely by the cops and a whole lotta heat, and take you right along with him.”

  “We don’t have page six in Chicago,” Netty said, looking at them through Fiona’s vanity mirror. “You from New York now?”

  Cleo waved her away like an annoying fly. “He looks just like Daney, and you’ll fuckin’ get smashed and slip. Then I gotta deal with you, with Daney, his doppelganger, Andrea and every fuckin’ body else. Just keep your legs closed, and don’t fuck me, okay?”

  Fiona smiled and gave her the finger. It wasn’t like she deliberately got into shit, but she was a magnet for trouble and they all knew it.

  “Netty, I hate to do it to you, but this whole thing is rush rush rush. We start shooting in less than three weeks, and she’s gonna need some day wear. Then there’s that Ladies in Hollywood luncheon that Andrea was yapping about. Shit! That’s gotta be tight, and there’s bound to be some night engagements. I fuckin’ hate New York, but we’ve gotta go.”

  “Gotta go shopping, Feef,” Netty grinned. “Bloomingdale’s got 40 percent off too!”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. she’d always been known for one-of-a-kind ensembles that showcased her body and face, but recently Netty had ran off at the mouth to a reporter about her preference for quality over quantity, and several pubs had picked up the thread and written her into articles about recessionistas now that the economy was in the toilet.

  Now she had a rep for being one of those beautiful women who wear their clothes, not the other way around. Apparently she was always effortlessly turned out and stylish without a care for trends. Which was all true, except she wasn’t on some kind of new savings kick; she’d been rewearing her clothes and repurposing outfits forever because she didn’t like owning a lot of stuff.

  “We’re gonna have to get a few new pairs of shoes too, since you’re incapable of walking without scuffing the shit out of everything.”

  She sighed irritably. Shopping with Netty was like drowning. Every time she thought she could come up for air, her girl would appear like a horrible cramp to shove her in or out of the next dress. Shoes were the worst. Nothing was too high or too outlandish.

  She’d play on Fiona’s love for details mercilessly, wheedle discounts from the sales people like a Depression Era grandmother, and the way she played on her bosses love for purses was shameless. She’d dangle Coach bags and Fendi clutches from her bosses shoulders and hands like the most beautiful leather bound distractions, all the while racking up outfit after outfit.

  “You wanted it,” she’d say when they were home later and Fiona was screeching over the receipts. “Here,” and she’d hand over one of the more expensive items, a purse.

  Fiona would calm down instantly and the offer her stock line: “Well, I need something to hold my lipstick, Flora’s bottles, and what little money I have left.”

  Chapter five

  “You don’t want to know how much they offered.”

  “Tell me, Buck.”

  “Nope,” his
brother teased. “But I will say the contract’s short. They like to do things a season at a time, but the last cat they renewed a few times before they replaced him with you. Paul says it’s like no work.”

  “It’s never no work. But I like money.”

  “We’re gonna have to go back to LA soon.”

  “I told you in a coupla days.”

  “OK, I’m just sayin’. You gotta start fittings, and they wanna see your hair. Paul said he had to tell ‘em you’d cut it. He doesn’t think it’ll be a problem though.” Buck knew it wouldn’t be a problem. His brother looked even better with his hair short. It showed more of his face. “There have been pictures of you and Fiona out and about all over the Internet.”

  “What else?” Dane asked, ignoring that last comment.

  “Hugo Boss is considering you for their spring campaign. The Clinique people called again about their men’s fragrance line.”

  “What did Paul say?”

  “He wants them to pay more.”

  Dane chuckled. “I almost feel sorry for the bastards.”

  Buck snorted. “Yeah. Almost! Oh, Randy called. He wanted to know if you were doing any of the NY fashion week shows. I told him, of course, and we’ll be home in a few days. He wants to hook up. Apparently, he’s collaborating on a book about fashion week and wants to make sure you’re in it.”

  Randy was one of Dane’s oldest friends. A former model, he’d been making a name for himself as a fashion photographer for several years now.

  “Tough job, that. Taking pictures of scantily clad women all day and night.”

  “Yeah,” Buck agreed, dead pan. “Almost as tough as being scantily dressed with the scantily dressed women in the pictures.”

  Dane laughed. “OK?”

  “Are you at Fiona’s?”

  “No stupid, I’m on my way home, but I gotta stop and talk to that one cat about that thing. Fiona’s meeting me in New York.”

  “You have a 10:30 flight to LA in less than a week,” Buck reminded.

  When his brother got near Fiona, time ceased to have any meaning. He’d been late for more meetings since they’d hooked up than Buck could even remember. When he mentioned it Dane replied he’d made more money in the past three months than he had in the last six.